Page 27 of Bride of Ice
“And is she a good ma?” Ian put his last pawn into place.
“She’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“She died when I was a lad.”
Ian’s brow crumpled in distress. “You have no parents at all then.”
“I have a clan.” It was true. Spending his youth with Morgan, he’d grown to think of Laird Giric and Lady Hilaire as his mother and father.
“My mother is the laird of our clan,” Ian volunteered, “though my sister Hallie is watching o’er us while she’s away.”
At that revelation, dangerous thoughts began to swirl through Colban’s brain.
He edged one pawn forward.
He could use this chance meeting with the laird’s son to his advantage. It would be the work of an instant to seize the wee lad and take him hostage. Even without a weapon.
Anyone could see how easily he could break the lad’s scrawny neck. In the blink of an eye. With his bare hands.
Using the son of the laird as a shield, he could get past Rauve. Once all of Rivenloch understood the threat Colban posed, he’d be granted free passage back to Creagor.
Once at Creagor, he would not only provide Morgan with a third hostage, but he could give the laird useful information about Rivenloch’s defenses if war came to pass.
Colban wouldn’t even be breaking his word. He’d made no specific promises about taking hostages.
“Well?” Ian had made his move. Now he looked up at Colban with wide blue eyes.
But Colban couldn’t do it. It was a matter of chivalry. No matter how desperate the situation was, threatening to harm a helpless lad went against his sense of honor. Honor he’d cultivated all his life.
In a few days, he told himself, things would work themselves out, and he’d be returned to Creagor. There was no need for bloodshed. Or violence. Or carrying off wee Viking lads.
He slid another pawn forward.
“Have you e’er watched a lightning storm?” Ian asked.
Colban grinned. The lad was an endless font of questions. “Aye.”
“’Tis curious, isn’t it, how the branches of lightning form like the branches of a tree.”
“I suppose so.”
“I was almost struck by lightning once.” He lowered his voice to confide, “I was watching a storm atop the tower. My grandfather told me not to go up there. But ’twas too exciting to resist.”
“What happened?”
“My skin started to tingle. And my hair stood on end. All at once, with a loud crack, the lightning struck the tower wall right next to me.” His eyes widened with the memory, then lowered to the chessboard. “Your move.”
To Colban, the lad’s mind moved like lightning, darting about in seemingly random patterns.
While Colban was choosing which piece to move, Ian volunteered, “I’ve built a siege engine.”
“Is that so?”
“Well. A model of a siege engine. Da won’t let me have the timbers to build an actual engine. At least not until the model proves its worth. Would you like to see it?”
“Is it in here?”
